After recon pilot Cora Daniels crash lands on an alien
planet she finds herself a prisoner of the Flock: a race of birdlike humanoids.
Trapped in their zoo she discovers they intend her to mate. To breed. To be
part of their human herd.

She's placed in a cage with a man - a powerful, virile man,
but not just any man - Alexander. Was he her lost love, who'd disappeared so
long ago? Here he was: naked, glistening, a warrior trained by the Flock to
fight for their amusement. How could the brilliant man, the tender lover she remembered
have become this animal born to dominate and destroy? Was he a pawn of the
Flock or would their flight to freedom be a long-sought reunion?

At the gate, a guard stepped in Cora's path and whistled an incomprehensible command.

"What?" she asked.

Cora was no alien expert. A pilot and a
mechanic, she knew engines and machines not people--and on this planet the
Flock were the reigning "people." Her translator chip still couldn't
decipher the Flock language. The chirps, cackles, whirs, whistles and trills
they used as speech sounded like birdsong, but unlike birdsong she didn't ﬁnd
anything pleasing about it. Her one required course on alien contact at the
Academy wouldn't do her any good if she couldn't understand or speak their
language.

The Flock whistled again. She tried to move
around him. He smacked her arm with his rod then shoved her ahead of him.

"Go where?" she called out to the
women.

One woman ran along the inside of the
compound fence. "Make young." The answer left a lot to be desired.

"What happen?" Cora asked.

The woman smiled. "Go. Much fun. Good.
You like."

"Yeah, sure," Cora muttered.
Whatever the Flock had in mind for her, she wasn't interested.

She took the opportunity to look around as
the guard herded her deeper into the compound, past the pen she'd occupied
since her arrival. They moved down a wide path between a series of pens to
where she hadn't yet been. Farther ahead lay some buildings.

It appeared the compound covered several
acres, consisting of many pens separated by wooden barriers. The inhabitants of
each pen were segregated by age and gender. Her pen held ten women, all in
their twenties like her. One pen held girls ranging in age from about ﬁve to
ﬁfteen. A larger pen held about ﬁfteen women, all with babies and toddlers. In
still another pen, fresh wood chips covered the ground, there were tent-covered
low benches with soft cushions, and a fountain provided fresh water and cooled
the hot, dry air. Six women in varying stages of pregnancy occupied this pen.
Cora couldn't help but gape at the women's bulging bellies and swollen breasts.
Sweet stars, she was trapped on a breeding farm for humans.

The women paid little attention to her or her
guard as they moved through this human chicken coop. She noticed there weren't
any pens with grown men. If the women were hens, where was the rooster?

The next pen answered her question. Naked
except for protective cups over their genitals, ten boys ranging in age from
four to ten practiced ﬁghting with wooden swords. Her attention shifted from
the boys to the adult male who directed their training. Though his back was to
her, he appeared as naked as the boys. Forgetting the guard, she paused to
watch.

Bronze skin shiny with sweat rippled over
powerful muscles as the man instructed the boys in swordplay. With his dark
hair and straddle-legged stance, the youngest boy looked like a miniature
version of the man. Cora smiled at his clumsy attempts to imitate his elder's ﬂuid
movements.

The boy watched the man intently, but his
small body, round with baby fat, refused to cooperate. He tripped and sprawled
in the dust. His wooden sword slipped from his grip. The other boys' laughter
stopped abruptly at the man's sharp command. The man knelt next to the boy,
said a few quiet words then handed him back the wooden sword. The boy rubbed
the tears from his cheeks with grubby ﬁsts, leaving streaks of dirt. The man's
compassion for the boy touched Cora, made these people seem less like animals.
More human.

At one time she'd dreamed of someday having a
child like this--Alex's child. That dream had died with him. Losing Alex had
killed that need inside her. Now she lived to explore. Relationships, love and
caring for others were no longer part of her life.

Still, her gaze moved back to the man and
traveled from the top of his head, covered with sleek shoulder-length ebony
hair, down his broad shoulders to his narrow waist and taut bare buttocks. Her
breath caught at the beauty of his form. His unashamed masculinity woke her
buried femininity. Her nipples tightened in response. At some primal level her
body recognized this man. No one since Alex had stirred her like this.
"Turn around," she whispered. "I want to see your face."

Instead, he stepped back from the boys then
lunged forward. Sunlight ﬂashed off the blade of his sword as he whirled.
Brieﬂy, before the beauty of his motion recaptured her attention, she wondered
why he didn't use his own real sword to strike down his captors and seize his
freedom. Dark hair obscured his features as his face whipped past. Why did he
seem so familiar? She had to see his face. She started forward.

Pain radiated down her arm. Instinctively she
turned to confront her attacker--the guard--and ducked the next blow. Acting on
rage and adrenaline, she snatched the rod from his hand and cracked it across
his neck. Without a sound, he went down and lay motionless.

Wednesday, 30 May 2012

My huge welcome, today, goes to fellow author from Crooked{Cat}Publishing- MARK PATTON-whose debut novel 'Undreamed Shores' was published last week. (I've just started reading it, and wonder who Mark just might be talking about below!)

Mark is here today to tell us how he uses

Secondary Characters in his novel.

In 2003, workmen digging a trench for a water-pipe near
Boscombe in Wiltshire discovered human bones and pottery. Archaeologists were called in, and confirmed
that the remains dated to the Early Bronze Age, making them around 4300 years
old, roughly the same period as the construction of nearby Stonehenge
(www.wessexarch.co.uk/projects/wiltshire/boscombe/bowmen). At the time, I was starting to formulate the
idea for a novel, set at just that point in both time and space, and featuring
the construction of Stonehenge itself.

As the Boscombe dig progressed, it became clear that this
was no ordinary grave. It contained the remains of seven people, only one of
whom had been buried in the usual way for the period (as an intact body, lying
on his side in a crouched position).

(image: Wessex Archaeology)

The scattered bones
of two men and a teenager were found around this central burial, as were the
partial remains of three children, one of whom had been burned. Chemical
analysis of the teeth suggested that three of the individuals had been born in Wales (possibly the same region from which
stones had been brought to build Stonehenge).

These seven people became secondary
characters in my novel, now published as Undreamed Shores,
and the mystery of how they came to be buried as they were became an important
sub-plot.

Undreamed Shores
includes quite a few secondary characters. There is an epic journey at the
heart of it, requiring a crew of eleven, and, like Homer’s Odysseus, my
protagonist, Amzai, also meets many people on his journey, some of them
friendly, others less so. Unlike, say, a psychological drama or a romance, the
nature of my story cried out for a substantial cast of secondary characters,
who would hardly be credible if they were not three-dimensional.

When I thought, however, about my all-time favourite
secondary characters in literature (Thersites in The Iliad; Treebeard in The
Lord of the Rings; Mr Deasy, the pompous headmaster in James Joyce’s Ulysses; Thomas “Call-Me-Risley”
Wriothesley in Hilary Mantel’s Wolf Hall
& Bring Up The Bodies), it seemed
to me that as well as, in many cases, providing an element of humour, the way
in which they are characterised often carries forward key themes in the
author’s creation of a fictional world.

In developing the characters of Treebeard and the Ents, for
example, Tolkien develops the theme of an ancient world order, the passing of
which is already underway. He gives this strange character (part human, part
animal, part tree) a long history, and a memory filled with regrets (the
separation of the male Ents and the female “Entwives”; the consequent lack of
“Entings” to continue their race and traditions; their betrayal by the wizard
Saruman; the rise of the evil empire of Mordor). This theme of the passing of an old world, a
loss of innocence, is central to the whole narrative of The Lord of the Rings.

My narrative purpose in Undreamed
Shores is almost the mirror image of Tolkien’s, my aim being to summon up a
vision not of a passing social order, but of an emerging new one, a world
(suggested by my reading of the archaeological evidence) in which individuals
travelled further than they had ever travelled before; in which people from
very different cultural backgrounds were coming into contact with each other
for the first time; in which a new religion was putting down roots; and new
technologies being adopted.

It might be thought that the emergence of one social order
presupposes the passing of an older one, and so it does, but Undreamed Shores is told unambiguously
from the point of view of the enthusiasts for the new order, prominent among
them Nanti, the young woman with whom Amazai falls in love, and her father,
Arthmael, the architect of Stonehenge, and himself an immigrant from a distant
land.

image from www.123RF.com

There must certainly be another story to tell. I will
probably write it some day, but I haven’t started to think about it yet.
Writing, for me, is too much like method acting: I can’t exit stage left as
Prince Hal in one breath, and re-enter stage right as
Harry Hotspur in the next; so that will have to wait. It won’t even be my next
novel (that’s set 2000 years later, and will feature one of Amzai’s distant
descendants).

And the people buried at Boscombe? In my story they include
Engus, Nanti’s cousin, and his three companions from “the Westlands.” I have
given them all histories, and personalities, and given the “Westlanders” a
distinctive pattern of speech which (quite artificially) draws on the way in
which English is used in modern Wales.
In elaborating their story I have given some hints as to the conflicts that I
might develop further in either a sequel or a prequel but, in either case, it
will probably be secondary characters (if not necessarily Engus and his
companions) who provide the link between the two stories.

Mark Patton
Mark Patton was born in Jersey, and studied archaeology
& anthropology at Cambridge. He is the author of several non-fiction
books, and currently teaches for The Open University. Undreamed Shores is his first novel.

Tuesday, 29 May 2012

I'd like to welcome Sarah J. McNeal to my Secondary Characters- Tuesdays in May blogs. She's brought with her a couple of fabulous covers and some very interesting reading about how she developed a secondary character into a very handsome hero!

And make sure to read on at the end to find out a little bit more about this cheery Western author...

Secondary Characters

When I wrote Harmonica
Joe’s Reluctant Bride, I originally intended to include a bewhiskered old
prospector who frequented the Iron Slipper saloon and bordello where the
heroine, Lola works concocting
extraordinary cocktails from her twenty-first century recipes. But something
happened—something magical straight from my muse and I changed the crusty old
codger in for a homeless sixteen year old boy named Banjo by his surrogate
mother who worked cleaning the bar and doing laundry.She died when Banjo was ten and he learned to
survive in the streets by doing odd jobs.Belle, the owner of the bordello, allowed him to sleep in the tiny
storage room behind the saloon.He
possessed a gift for inventing mechanical things and, when Lola needed an ice crusher for one of her delicious
creations, Banjo volunteered and made her one from spare parts and junk.

Because of his
circumstances, it was only natural that he fell into some bad ways in his
youth.Banjo drank whiskey, smoked
cheroots, gambled and enjoyed the pleasure of the Belle’s “soiled doves” who
were eager to teach him the bedroom arts of pleasuring a woman.He was courageous, smart and hard
working.He saved Lola’s
life from a murderous brute and helped Joe
and Lola rebuild after their house was
set on fire.It became very clear to me
that Banjo needed his own story.

The timing for Banjo’s
story as an adult fell into the World War I era and loved that I could include
such a rich chunk of history into his story.Of course, Banjo is a westerner through and through.He grew up in the fictitious town of Hazard, Wyoming
with a love of wild, open spaces and horses and has a heart as big as the sky.To increase the story intensity, I sent him
off to New York City
to find his absentee father and make something of himself in order to ask for
the hand of his fair love, Margaret
Ann O’Leary.Maggie
is no shy, reclusive girl but a iron-willed woman who can run a ranch and has a
mind of her own. When she begins to doubt Banjo’s faithfulness, she sure as Hades isn’t going to sit in her rocking chair and knit.No sir, Maggie
intends to get to the bottom of things and Banjo best be prepared to give her
an accounting.

For Love of Banjo:

Deceit stands between
Banjo Wilding’s love for Maggie
O’Leary and his search for the
father he never knew.

Banjo Wilding wears a
borrowed name and bears the scars and reputation of a lurid past.To earn the right to ask for Margaret O’Leary’s
hand, he must find his father and make something of himself.

Margaret
O’Leary has
loved Banjo since she was ten years old but standing between her and Banjo is
pride, Banjo’s mysterious father and the Great War.

Will either of them find
happiness?

EXCERPT:

Why was he being so
stubborn?Their time together was about
to end.The moments grew precious and
she didn’t want to waste one second.The
scent of soap and leather radiated from him.She wanted to remember everything about him, the way he looked and
smelled; the sound of his voice and the way his hair gleamed in the sun.

Sunset spread like
liquid gold across the horizon.The
golden light glinted off his spectacles, making it impossible for Maggie to read his dark eyes.

Her lips pressed together in hurt. “There’s
nothing wrong with you, Banjo Wilding that a good slap across the face won’t
fix.”He grabbed her wrist in his long
fingers and held it in his firm but gentle grasp.

“First you want me to
make love to you—in sin I might add—and next thing comes out of your mouth is
sass.Making love to you might prove a
dangerous undertaking for any man.”He
smiled when he said it.He let go of his
hold on her wrist and opened his arms to her.His dark eyes drew her to him.She
gazed into those magnetic eyes, felt her heart turn over and hurried into his
warm embrace.Banjo pulled her in close
and kissed the crown of her head.

The Earth paused as she
stood in his arms.Minutes passed.Banjo took in a ragged breath and Maggie knew what he would say next.She dreaded it.He loosened his hold on her and stepped
back.The awful moment had come.

Lola Barton discovers a warp in time in an
old trunk when she falls into 1910. She finds herself married to Joseph
Wilding, a stranger shadowed by secrets. Mistaken for Callie McGraw, a thief
and a woman of ill repute, Lola finds her life is threatened by a scoundrel.
Joe stands between her and certain death. With danger threatening all around
and secrets keeping them apart, can Joe and Lola find their destiny together?
Or will time and circumstance forever divide them?

I
became interested in writing at a young age.My parents didn’t allow us to have a television so my sisters and I
became avid readers.We read everything
from Shakespeare to my mother’s True
Detective Stories that, by the way, scared the hell out of me.I submitted my first story and received my
first rejection when I was thirteen years old.

Along
with writing, I have a deep love of music and play the violin, bagpipes, guitar
and harmonica.

I
live with my two cats, Acorn and Liberty
and my golden retriever, Kate.I feed
the wild birds around my house but there are way too many to name.I enjoy all wild creatures and am a member of
The Defenders of Wildlife and The American Society for the Prevention of
Cruelty to Animals as well as The Humane Society of the United States.

I
am particularly drawn to writing fantasy and time travel/historical
romances.I have created a magical place
called Valmora where winged people with various magical abilities are in
constant struggle against the evil forces of the Dark Isle.

I also write time travel novels and love doing
the historical research for them.I am
also writing a series of musical instrument stories inspired by my love of
music and playing musical instruments.

Until
recent years, I wrote short stories, two of which were the early inspiration
for the Valmora series and three other stories that were sci-fi and paranormal.

I
have also written nonfiction including an article in The Charlotte Observer and
a monthly newsletter from the emergency department of CMC Mercy Hospital.

You
can also find blogs and more information about me at my website:http://www.sarahmcneal.com

Writing
brings me a joy and fulfillment that nothing else can.I love creating magical worlds and people who
want to make a difference.I hope that
anyone who reads them will love them, too.

Thursday, 24 May 2012

Babette has brought a little competition for you so watch out for details at the end of this post!

Blurb:

What’s
a girl to do when her summer lover wants forever?

Haunted
by dark memories of her parents’ volatile marriage, artist Kay Browning keeps
her heart locked behind a free-spirit facade and contents herself with the
comfortable affair she has every summer with easygoing photographer Nate Quinn.

The
only trouble with her plan? This summer Nate’s come to Lake Mohave
to claim the lover he can’t let go. He’s done with the endless traveling and
settling for temporary homes and temporary loves. Kay’s always been more than
just a vacation fling, and now he must convince this woman, who sees love as a
course to certain heartbreak, to take that leap of faith and learn how safe
love with the right man can be.

Excerpt:

“Kay!”
That male voice was not her imagination.

“Oh,
shit!” She twisted and dropped into the water, sinking neck-deep.

Mother
always said, among other things, that a lady never goes skinny-dipping and must
always wear a proper hat. Kay was only half skinny-dipping, but she fervently
wished she’d worn something a bit more substantial than a baseball cap and the
bottom half of the quintessential teeny-weenie yellow polka-dot bikini.

Shit,
oh, shit, oh, shit. She so hated when Mother was right.

Okay,
time to find out who’d just gotten an eyeful. The guy had called her name, so
she should know him. Oh boy, if she’d flashed old George…

She
wiped water from her face, sucked in a breath against her pounding heart, and
peeked around.

Nate.

She
must be sun-dazed. Nate? With a beard? Hair curling over his ears? No way.

Just
because a familiar slouchy fishing hat topped those unruly, sun-bleached blond
curls and just because this guy possessed the same deep-water tan and footloose
taste in clothes as Nate with his electric blue Hawaiian shirt, bright orange
swim trunks, and beat-up deck shoes didn’t mean—

“Hey,
babe. Now that I’ve finally caught your attention, how about a hug from my
girl?” He opened his arms. “Am I coming in after you or are you coming out?”
Only Nate’s voice held that mellow timbre like chocolate for her ears.

“Nate!
What…” Giddy delight flushed over Kay, clearing her shock. She dashed from the
water and into strong arms, a wonderful hug, and a better kiss that launched
her mind into a blissed-out whirl of oh, yes and why?

The
oh, yes won out until the need to breathe forced them apart.

Nate
gave her a long look, his usually easy gray eyes holding a new, simmering heat.

Wow.
Whoa.

That's a great blurb and excerpt from Clear as Day. Now let's find out something about the author.

Who is Babette James?

I’ve
always loved writing and making up stories, beginning back when I used to act
out epic fantasy tales with my dolls. (My Barbies had swords and knew how to
use them.) I even have a degree in Literature, but it wasn’t until 2004 that I
wrote my first full rough draft of romance novel and began gathering up my
nerve to pursue publication. I fell in love with writing romance and have
focused on that ever since. I write contemporary and fantasy romance and love
nail-biting tales with a satisfying happily ever after.

Clear
As Day is my debut novel, a spicy contemporary romance from The Wild Rose Press
about two friends with
benefits facing the fears and uncertainties of their changing relationship and
is set
against the background of the summer heat and cool waters of Lake Mohave.
I loved writing Clear As Day, it’s been a story of my heart in many ways, so
seeing this story published and receive the 4 1/2 star scorcher review from
Romantic Times truly has been a thrill. Being able to hold my book in my hands
is a dream come true and I hope you enjoy Nate and
Kay’s journey as much as I have.

I’m
also a teacher, and I enjoy encouraging young readers and writers as they
discover their growing abilities. My class cheers when it’s time for their
spelling test! When not writing, teaching or reading, I dabble with bread
baking and painting, and try to keep up on weeding the garden beds. Born in New Jersey and raised in Southern
California, I’ve had a life-long love of the desert and going down
the shore. I now live in New Jersey
with my wonderfully patient husband and our three extremely spoiled cats.

Tuesday, 22 May 2012

This is a fabulous day to have my author friend Lisa Lickel as my guest on 'she said, he said'. It's not only because she's contributing to my'Tuesdays in May-Secondary Characters and How We Use Them' theme, but also because... it’s launch day forThe Map Quilt - Book 2 of her Buried Treasure mysteries.

Let's celebrate with Lisa!

Lisa has special news for you. She's got some goodies to give away...but only today so...

...and those who purchase Lisa's book today are
eligible for a raft of gifts.

But first of all, who is Lisa?

LISA J LICKEL is a multi-published
author who enjoys writing and performing radio
theater, short story-writing, and is an avid book reviewer and blogger. She enjoys
teaching writing workshops and working with new writers and freelance editing.
She is the editor of Wisconsin Writers Association’s Creative Wisconsin
magazine. She lives in a hundred and sixty-year-old house in Wisconsin filled with books and dragons.
Married to a high school biology teacher, she enjoys travel and quilting.www.lisalickel.com

Well, Lisa, I guess my house is older by around 30 years, give or take a few, but I don't think I've got any dragons down in my cellar. In my husband's study? Now that's another matter! Another thing we share, though, is a love of travel...and I'm really getting very involved in mysteries, so let's meet the friends from The Map Quiltthat you've invited along with you today.

Good morning, Mrs. Edwards. Thank you for the coffee.
And toast. And coffeecake. Blueberry, is it? Oh, and no, thanks, no cookie
right now. They’re oatmeal, you say? Yes, you’re right. Oatmeal is good for
breakfast, but…perhaps later. No, the coffee’s fine, I just need…Right, let’s get
on with the interview. So, tell us about yourself, ma’am. For the record.

Well,
sweetheart, aren’t you the dearest thing? You’re so kind to let me tell a bit
of my story. I’m Ardyth Genevieve Anderson Belters Edwards, Mrs. Bryce Edwards,
that is. I’m a newlywed, even though I’m celebrating my seventy-seventh
birthday in August. And thank you for calling me Mrs. Edwards. Still like the
sound of that. I was born and raised right here in Robertsville, though I left
for bigger adventures when I turned eighteen. I don’t regret marrying Mr.
Belters as I have my dear children, Paul, Robert, and Gwen. But if Bryce and I
hadn’t been so pig-headed back then, we would have settled down together…well,
no use getting my dander up about that now. We have each other now and are all
the more wise.

Did you know I
once had a little, bitty crush on Judy’s great uncle Harold, Bryce’s best
friend, even though I’d set my cap on Bryce? I guess it’s always a bit of a
thrill thinking about the other side of the fence. When Harold went on that
gold-mining adventure to Alaska
I couldn’t help wanting desperately to go along. Then Bryce announced he was going and they made that-that bet! That was the limit. Good-bye,
adios, and farewell.

Since that
dear Louise was killed, I never thought I’d have another girlfriend in town.
Judy’s a young thing, she is, with a wise and kind heart. It’s a strange thing
to have a friend so much younger, but we have lots in common. Sure, we come
from Midwest farm stock, know what it’s like
to make do. And quilt. So it wasn’t hard for Judy and me to solve the latest
murder case, though that young whipper snapper husband of Judy’s better learn
some patience, even he is my husband’s business partner.

That’s quite intriguing, Mrs. Edwards. I remember
reading about that in the Wisconsin headlines.
Tell us what happened. How did you solve the murder?

Oh, my. I
can’t tell you that, now. Take the fun out of reading the story for yourself.

You’re right. I apologize. Can you at least share what
the case was about?

Why, that
lovely woman, Julietta Barslow, of course. I like her spunk, standing up for
what’s right all these generations. And to think she came from good Christian
stock. Her people never were slaves or even indentured servants. Able to care
for themselves right from the get-go. Such a story she has to tell. Well, even
before Julietta came to give her program to the school kids, there was the
Robertsville Ladies Quilting Society, the ones who sewed that quilt in Judy’s
trunk. The quilt with a map on it leading folks along the Underground Railroad.
Right through Robertsville. My husband’s family was part of that, too, you
know. Good folks seeing no sense in buying and selling souls. A story like that
has to be told. Julietta would never have sabotaged Bryce’s business. That lady
is no murderer. She did help with Judy’s baby, and all. Probably saved their
lives.

image courtesy of www.123RF.com

Any troubles with the case?

That little
reporter gal, Olivia Hargrove. Responsible reporting, my foot. She nearly
ruined the whole thing with all her nosy busy-bodyness. She had no call to go
and accuse members of my family the way she did. My grandson Bryan, that’s
Paul’s oldest, you know, eighteen, why he’s a good boy. Just a little misguided
is all. He’ll come out right. I hope. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I like her and
all, and admire the way Judy’s trying her best to get along with everyone. It
must have been so difficult being an orphan, raised by Louise, dear hear that
she was. What was the question? Who’s the orphan? Go on, you say? Yes, let’s.

Do you think you’ll ever collaborate with Judy on
another case?

Bad business,
this latest murder, for sure. But thrilling, I have to admit. Even though I’d
never wish bad things to happen to anyone. No one else knows This yet, so keep
quiet. You don’t see that reporting gal around, do you? Olivia? Shhh…we’re
ready to solve poor old Esme’s murder. She was Bryce’s aunt, though no one
really knew about it. I have my suspicions, of course, about who would done it,
but Judy’s the sleuth. I’m her chief aide. If only Cat hadn’t been so reckless.
Judy, dear, I think I might be a little distracted, what between Cat and my
daughter Gwen, I’m a mess. That’s okay if you want to work with her some more.
She’s the one who found the code and all, anyhow.

You don’t say. My, that does sound thrilling. Where do
you live again? I want to make sure it’s not on our summer vacation list.

(Sniff) Now,
there, Robertsville is really a nice place. Lovely. Have another cookie. And an
apple.

*****

It sounds to me as though there are plenty of names mentioned there who have great potential to have their own stories. I wonder who I'd pick first? I'm thinking it might be Olivia...then again, maybe Julietta?

Here's the blurb for The Map Quilt to give you a little idea of what the story is all about.

The Map Quilt:

Death in rural Wisconsin is only the beginning to new chaos
in Robertsville. What do a stolen piece of revolutionary agricultural
equipment, a long-buried skeleton in the yard, and an old quilt with secrets
have in common? Hart and Judy Wingate, who met in The Gold Standard, are back to solve the mystery of The Map Quilt. Hart’s new battery design
could forever change the farm implement industry. But after the death of Hart’s
most confrontational colleague in a fire that destroys Hart’s workshop, the
battery is missing. Throw in a guest speaker invited to Judy’s elementary
classroom who insists she owns the land under Hart’s chief competitor’s
corporate headquarters, and a police chief who’s making eyes at Hart’s widowed
mother, it’s no wonder Hart is under a ton of pressure to make sure his
adventurous pregnant wife stays safe while trying to preserve his company and
his reputation.

Monday, 21 May 2012

Days have cycles, weeks have cycles, years have cycles. Yeah? I hear you grumping...so what's new?

That's the crux! There's that lovely thing called time running away from me again. Got to do more revisions, got to change more sentences, got to pace up, even pace down, got to do more...marketing...and blogging...and being a social butterfly.

That's the daily challenge for me-and probably for other writers that I know. Most days I love getting on that bike and doing a few miles, kilometers...metres even- but at others it's the biggest chore. What I might want to do is write afresh, write brand new, but for that to happen I need to clear off the stuff I've started first.

Same goes for my characters in MONOGAMY TWIST. Once a thing is STARTEDit needs to be FINISHED.

Here's a less than happy little snippet about how events are progressing...OR NOT...

He ripped off his
jacket and threw it across the room. Her ears rang like a clarion but she
refused to acknowledge it as he ranted. “You’ve signed that bloody contract and
Greywood needs you now! What you’ve started you have to finish!”

Bloody Hell! The way
she was feeling she’d leave him high and dry…but Greywood?

She lifted her head.
Luke’s natural olive skin tone was leached to a greyish white. Too bad! He
deserved to feel as sick as she’d been feeling all day!

Her words were a
whisper. “Who is Danielle?”

“Nobody important,”
Luke answered into the dark, sinister cloud that enveloped them. His rage was
under wraps for now, subdued by her example. At her unimpressed glare he added,
“She’s a woman I was dating before I met you.”

Rhia exhaled, her
chest heaving with the effort of replying, her eyes puffy from an earlier bout
of crying. “Before you met me or…” her voice trembled on the last word
“…while?”

“While?”

“Last weekend in London?” Her eyes were the
sharpest darts, very pained darts, but she didn’t care now if Luke noticed or
not. “Did you meet up with her then?” Her chin wobbled on the last, so
difficult had it been to get the words out, but there was no way she was going
to be palmed off with lies or platitudes.

“Sod it! I’m not
going to lie to you!”

Luke wrenched off his
tie to the beat of some impressive Italian swearing. Plonking himself on the
edge of the bed beside her he took a cautious breath before replying.

“Yes, I saw her in London last weekend.”

Rhia couldn’t stifle
the sniff as she slid away from him.

Now for the big question, is the accompanying image appropriate, I wonder? What does Rhia need to finish since she's started? To find out read: